


Not Gonna Happen

by Archer973



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 08:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2102433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archer973/pseuds/Archer973
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Peter came to check on Lydia while she was at the lake house trying to use her powers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Gonna Happen

She had been at the lake house for two days, sitting alone in upstairs room, listening to the scratch of the needle on the record, willing the voices to come back. They needed the second cypher key. People’s lives were depending on it, people she could save, people whose bodies she didn’t want to stumble upon in the dark. She was so sick of finding bodies.

So she listened. She reset the needle again and again and again and again. She begged the voices to tell her something, anything. But they remained mute. The silence was deafening. It beat at her, pounding on her skull, screaming her failure, her inadequacy. They were depending on her, all of them, and she was failing.

Tears threatened, but she choked them down. Lydia Martin did not cry. Lydia Martin did not fail. She was going to do this. She was going to make them speak to her. She was Lydia Martin and she did not back down.

“No,” a voice drawled, jolting her out of her stupor. “No, you never did. One of the things I admire about you, really.”

“What are you doing here?” Lydia demanded, or at least attempted to. Her voice was hoarse from lack of use, scratching and catching on her throat. Suddenly she realized how incredibly thirsty she was.

Peter Hale chuckled. He was leaning against the doorframe of the white room, arms crossed over one of his signature black V-necks. He tilted his head to the side, dark eyes studying her intently.

“You weren’t picking up your phone,” he said, pushing off the wall and sauntering over. “I heard dear Scott talking about it with the pale, annoying one. Stiles, I believe. They were commiserating over their worry for you, and, of course, not doing anything to help. So I decided to come instead.”

“Why?” she asked, eyes still fixed on the spinning record. “Why come?”

“To check on you, of course,” Peter replied sweetly. Lydia looked up at him this time, eyebrow raised in a do-you-seriously-expect-me-to-buy-that look. Peter grinned.

“You want to know whether you’re on the list,” Lydia stated, her voice sounding distant to her own ears. The world was slightly fuzzy and there was an ache in her stomach that spoke of far too many hours without food. She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten, or slept, for that matter.

“There’s a psycho running around decapitating people with a thermal wire,” Peter said, voice losing its honeyed sweetness. “Of course I want to know if I’m on the list. So would you, if you were in my shoes.”

Lydia nodded, though she wasn’t quite sure what she was agreeing to. The world was spinning now, and there were shadows on the edges. Dimly she thought she heard someone calling her name, but it was far away, down a long tunnel. She was so tired. But she had to keep listening. They needed her. They were counting on her. She couldn’t fail them, not again.

Suddenly she was airborne. Everything was warm and smelled of spice and pines. She was cradled against something solid. She heard a rumble, something that could have been a voice, but she didn’t care. She wanted to sleep. But she couldn’t, not until the voices talked to her. They had to talk to her… they had to… everyone… was… counting…

 

She was warm, so warm. The air was thick with the scent of pines and cinnamon. Light poked at her eyes, making her groan and snuggle closer to the warmth. She could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady. Arms were wrapped around her, cradling her. She was safe, and content, and so, so very warm.

Then she remembered. She remembered spinning records and silent voices and a smirking face. She tried to shoot upright, but the arms held her, tightening around her body. She heard a laugh rumble up through the chest on which her head lay.

“Good morning, Lydia,” Peter said, his voice thick with amusement. “Did you sleep well?”

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” Her order was met with another chuckle, though his arms did loosen, but only enough so that she could look up at him. Peter’s eyes were twinkling in that infuriating way of his and a smirk played over his lips. His hair was mussed, as if he had slept on it. Lydia had the sudden urge to reach up, run her fingers through it, and use it as a handle to pull him down into a kiss.

“How long did I sleep?” she asked, trying to ignore the alarming and frankly ludicrous thought, though from the way Peter’s smirk widened it seemed her damned body had betrayed her.

“About six hours,” he replied, brushing a thumb against the skin of her arm. Lydia shivered, then scolded herself. Peter Hale was bad news. At last count he had bitten her, psychologically tortured her, and possessed her in order to bring himself back from the dead. It didn’t matter how muscled he was, how gorgeous his cheekbones were, or how good he looked in those damn V-necks. There was no way she was getting into that. Nope. No way. Not gonna happen.

“You know,” Peter murmured, still trailing his finger along her arm, his voice rumbling out of his chest in a way that made her pulse spike. “You really should learn not to speak your thoughts aloud.”

Lydia opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly her lips were busy with something else entirely. All of the reasons why this was a bad idea abruptly didn’t seem as important, not when she was chasing Peter’s tongue and winding her hand through his hair. The voices could wait. Right now she had something far more important to do… like ride a werewolf until his heart gave out.


End file.
